


In Somnis Veritas

by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa- (strangeandintoxicating)



Series: Pains [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, FFXV Kink Meme, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Horror, I'm sorry Prompto, M/M, Multi, light sexual content considering it is me, reader beware it is kinda fucked up, this is fucked up even for me, what's under the helmet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:30:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9265754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandintoxicating/pseuds/Strange%20and%20Intoxicating%20-rsa-
Summary: FFXV kinkmeme prompt: Magitek Troopers are excessively advanced, heavily genetically modified clones. That's one thing Noctis learns in the laboratory. The other thing he learns is that somebody ordered them to remove their helmets. He learns that all Magitek Troopers have the same face.Prompto's face.(Ignis and Gladio are the first to find out that what seems to be lifeless metal is so much more, and Noctis learns too late.)





	1. Ignis (In Fire)

**Author's Note:**

> Magitek Troopers are excessively advanced, heavily genetically modified clones. That's one thing Noctis learns in the laboratory. The other thing he learns is that somebody ordered them to remove their helmets. He learns that all Magitek Troopers have the same face.
> 
> Prompto's face.
> 
> (gimme all the juicy angst) 
> 
> +Bonuses+  
> +It's Prompto's face but wrong. Deamonic, with red eyes and black scelera and ashy pallor.  
> +Ardyn taunting Noctis about how the man he loves only looks human  
> ++The unspoken fear that Prompto was always going to become an MT like the ones Noct is fighting  
> ++Body horror of any kind
> 
> \-- 
> 
> So, the original poster wanted Promptis, but I am (and forever will be) a very happy Prompto/Everyone-and-their-mom fan, so I had to write it with each of the Chocobros. I am tentatively going to label this as finished, because there was no request from the OP to write Prompto's portion. That may change depending on whether or not the OP liked what was written.

Ignis was the first to notice.

It was somewhere between Duscae and the Disc when the Imperials dropped out of the sky like birds slamming against a wind turbine. They would hit the ground on their feet, but there was a sound, the same sound that Ignis knew was human flesh on the hot, hard concrete.

There were a few dozen Magitek troops and he knew which ones to take down first by their armor. The Troopers and Snipers were always the ones that caused more of a headache than the others--while most were weak to lightning, these ones were more vulnerable to fire.

It didn't make sense, but neither did the squelch of bone and muscle hitting into a hard surface.

At first, he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him; sleeping on the rough ground was doing nothing for his back or his senses. The weary days and early mornings was wearing on his already razor-thin focus. His eyes were seeing blond hair where there was only armor. He had been taught since childhood what was under the Magitek armor--nothing but the mechanical whir of engines and the hiss of electricity.

But that thud, that sickening _thud_.

It made some part of Ignis, the visceral and animalistic part of him that he considered human instinct, notice.

And then he couldn't forget.

It wasn't all of the troopers. He could pick them in a lineup of their armor, the way it wasn't as bulky as the others. The way it seemed there were straps from the helmet to the breastplate, holding it in place. Why would it matter if the helmet stayed on when the core of the Magitek forces wiring was in the area which should have encased a heart?

Ignis prepared the fire spell in his palm, feeling the heat of Noctis’s burning magic against the flask and his skin, and he lobbed it toward the Troopers and Snipers. He could smell it before he could hear it. The smell made him pause and immediately search out for Noctis, then Gladio and Prompto. It smelled like meat left on the stove for too long or the one time he had grabbed a pot without realizing the handle had been over the open flame. It was that bubbling smell of cooking and burning flesh.

The Magitek were burning, and they should _not_ have been burning. They were metal, they were nothing but cool metal.

Or, at least, they _should_ have.

Ignis did not want to get close, but it was something that was so wrong, so against logic. Ignis knew like anyone who had dealings with Niflheim. There was nothing inside of those metal shells-- nothing but more metal and plastic and engine grease, slick and hot and black.

Yet that smell, that god-awful smell permeating the air like a nightmare, made the hairs on his arms stand up. Nothing but metal, he repeated to himself like a prayer.

Nothing.

But.

Metal.

Yet, as he got closer to the burning Magitek corpse, he could _see_ it.

Metal should not have had blond hair. It shouldn’t have. It made no sense, none at all. Yet, there it was, poking out of the corner of the helmet that shouldn’t have been locked --because why should it have been locked when there was no reason for it to have a head in the first place?

Blond hair burning.

Ignis looked to Noctis and Prompto who were laying the finishing touches on two Troopers and then to Gladiolus, who was entrenched in ripping the limbs off of an Assassin. They were busy, they couldn’t see what he saw… the way the helmet seemed to be barely hanging on. If he just nudged it with his boot--

Ignis shouldn’t have. He knew that the moment he saw the half-charred face staring back at his, black liquid oozing from its wounds. That smattering of freckles, though… He would have known them even if he were blind. They were just… they were so much like Prompto that his stomach churned and he found himself vomiting up his lunch next to the burning corpse. It wasn’t just the smattering of freckles--no, it was the curve of his lips, the half-burned away nose, and those eyes.

They were wrong. They should not have been in Prompto’s face.

No.

Prompto’s face never should have been on an Magitek trooper.

It… there was no logical explanation, and all Ignis could do was vomit brown sludge as he watched those burned eyes go lifeless.

Ignis burned the Magitek trooper until the meat was nothing but charred bone and melting metal, because the last thing he wanted was for someone-- Prompto-- to find it.

After, had asked Prompto if the man had managed to get in touch with his mother, and Prompto’s blond hair seemed to deflate as he put one hand in the crook of his elbow. It was something Prompto did, a way to fold in on himself. He mustered a, “No… I hope she got out of Insomnia okay…” before unwinding his hands, noticing the way Ignis stared at him.

Ignis, for all of the time he had spent with Prompto when he became friends with Noctis in high school, never met Prompto’s mother. He knew who she was from the paperwork on the deed of Prompto’s apartment and from his own background checks into who Prompto was when Noctis had dragged him to the Citadel. It was his job to find out who the prince spent his times around, as well as all of their outside connections. It was the only way to keep the prince safe.

Prompto had been adopted at a young age from a rather impoverish orphanage by the Argentum family; his father had passed away when Prompto was still young and so Prompto’s mother took on two job as a secretary by day, maid by night, to make ends meet. She was a proud woman who raised an independent man. Prompto went to public school for the first few years of his life, but was luckily accepted into Insomnia Prep on a lottery scholarship where he met Noctis as a shy, round about the waist boy at the age of twelve. They stayed classmates but didn’t speak until moving into high school.

Ignis had a folder prepared before the boy even left after dinner on his first trip.

Ignis was nothing if not diligent.

Yet that face, those eyes staring up at him as vacant as death…

Ignis found himself staring at Prompto that night, as the other man laughed and joked with Noctis or when Gladio threw him a dummy sword for them to spar with. He watch how Prompto’s face contorted in the blue lights of the havan and the roaring fire.

 _Fire_.

When the night came and they were squished inside of the tent, Ignis took a place between Noctis and Prompto (getting a confused shrug from Prompto, who could only roll over and throw his arm over Gladio’s stomach) and he spent the night staring up at the roof of the tent. He couldn’t sleep, because every time he closed his eyes all he could see was the black blood and those red eyes.

Daemon eyes.

Ignis didn’t fight himself as he slowly disengaged Prompto from Gladio, turning the other man over. He looked so peaceful, his face a connect-the-dots of freckles, and Ignis felt the pull of magic against his hand and he felt the sickening coldness of metal. He felt Prompto breathing and the light movement of stirring.

Ignis could only bury his nose in Prompto’s hair and take in the smell of Prompto’s sweat and shampoo as the blond reached up and wrapped his arms around his neck.

His dagger disappeared back into the ether of Noctis’s magic and he leaned down, letting his lips rest against Prompto’s.

 _This is_ **_Prompto_** , his mind reminded him. The same Prompto who asked him for dark chocolate chip cake on his birthday, only wanting to lick the batter off the spoon as he sat on Noctis’s kitchen counter, letting the heel of his foot tap in rhythm to his swinging legs. It was the same Prompto who got drunk when he was seventeen and threw his arms around Ignis-- so much like he was positioned right then, and asked if Ignis was willing to share Noctis. The same man who leaned up and kissed him, because he “had always wanted to see what it was like,” and Ignis had to admit he wanted to know, too.

There was nothing evil about Prompto. It was Prompto--the same man who was bright and cheerful and so human, made of skin and bone and _lightness_.

And Ignis felt his shame clawing its way up his stomach as Prompto yawned and pulled him down, sleepily blinking at Ignis.

“Sleep,” Prompto murmured.

Ignis wished he could.


	2. Gladio (In Bone)

Gladio found out next, because Gladio could read Ignis like his favorite harlequin romance novel, the pages worn from how many times he had turned them. It only took the announcement of the Imperial forces above them for Ignis to flinch, and that was more telling than if Ignis had said something out loud.

Ignis didn't _flinch_.

When he sliced into one of the Troopers, he noticed the way Ignis seemed to avoid some of the troops, and that was the second red flag.

“You hurt, Iggy?” Gladio asked as he sliced through the mechanical shell of the enemy, wincing as hot black grease hit his face. Those bastards always left so much of a goddamn mess on his blade, and Gladio loved that wherever Noctis’s magic came from seemed to clean the slick fluid right off. Still, that never helped with rubbing it off his skin.

Ignis darted his eyes towards Noctis and Prompto. They were just a little ways away, easily barreling through a few stragglers of the snipers. The enemies weren't even able to hold their weapons up at that point, so Gladio wasn't too worried. Noctis had easily handled worse, and at this point so had Prompto.

“Gladio, I need you to do something,” Ignis said, standing closer to Gladio’s side, his back to the Prince. There was something pinching at his cheeks, a sallow color that made Gladio worried Ignis was coming down with something. “And please… don't call attention to it.”

Gladio furrowed his eyebrows but nodded to Ignis. “Sure, what is it?”

Ignis looked down at the ground, his green eyes staring at the decimated trooper at their feet. It was still twitching; the electricity hadn't been gorked yet. That was weird-- usually when he cut them in half it killed their electrical current. Huh. Weird.

“Come on, what is it Specs?”

“Gladio…”

Gladio didn’t like where this was going. Ignis’s mouth was drawn down in a frown and he was holding his daggers in front of him like a safety blanket. It was almost like he expected the trooper Gladio had cut in half would rise like a zombie from one of Noct’s games.

That was making him more nervous than he cared to admit. Ignis didn’t _worry_. Ignis didn’t run his sentences off, because that was so unlike Ignis. The guy knew every word he wanted to say and already had the perfect reply to answer with. Yet in the field of broken machinery, surrounded by black engine fuel spit out across the grass, Ignis was… well, Ignis looked nervous.

“Iggy, what’s going on? What do you need?”

Ignis looked up at him and then back down to the cut down trooper. “Take off its helmet. And… Don’t make any noise. I need to see if it is the same, that I’m not going mad.”

Iggy, going mad? What the hell was going on?

Gladio put his hand out and pulled his clean sword from the ether, taking comfort in its weight and perfection in his hand. “Is it gunna come back to life?”

Ignis shook his head. “I rather doubt it. But… you may not like what is underneath."

Well, if that wasn’t cryptic as fuck. After spending so many years listening to Ignis talk, cryptic Iggy was the worst Iggy. It made him nervous, like someone was walking over his damn grave.

“Okay, Iggy. If you say so.” He hoped the other man would understand his seriousness, and Gladio leaned down and ran his fingers over the crack in the helmet. When he had fought with the trooper he had taken the heavy, dull side to the back of its head, causing the metal to crack like an eggshell. Sometimes it helped him short-circuit them, just like cutting them in half did the trick, and he should have known there was something not so right with that. MTs had their core in their chests. The only reason they even had heads was so that it looked vaguely human, or at least that was what he was taught in the Academy. People were more willing to follow orders and obey the MTs when they looked like people.

Fucking _people_.

Of course it shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did-- because that thing looked like--

“What the fuck is this--some kind of joke?” Gladio couldn’t look at it because its lips were trembling and that black sludge, the warm black sludge he had called engine grease and oil, it had never been that at all. It wasn’t the right color for humans and yet now that he could see it sliding out of that fucking face, dripping down its nose and ears and holy shit, was it crying black blood?

And Gladio could only stare back at Ignis, who only raised his hand over his mouth as explanation, holding out his own dagger.

“Is it-- _fuck_.”

The thing drew a jagged breath, and Gladio looked away from Ignis and back down to Prompto, because it was fucking Prompto, wasn’t it?

But Prompto was on the other side of the field with Noctis, and the two were busy laughing and shooting off a few rounds as target practice. The MTs were all dead now, and that was what they were…. Weren’t they? They were fucking _dead_ , because at one point they were _alive_ and they had the same fucking face as Prompto and Prompto was alive and breathing and laughing as he wrapped one hand around Noctis’s waist to pull him close while the other showed the prince how to best aim and _fuck._

“I..is that…?”

Ignis shook his head. Not even Iggy had any idea what the answer for this could possibly be.

The thing, that poor, fucking pitiful _thing_ , hacked and cried silently as black bubbled out of its mouth. Gladio couldn’t look away-- he had seen Prompto’s entire body over the years and knew it like he knew his own. And seeing it laid out in MT armor at his feet, cut in half and gasping for air as its skin began to burn and then crack in the sunlight...

Gladio needed to put it out of its misery. He couldn’t watch--he just couldn’t fucking do it.

He looked up to Prompto, at the way his hand was slowly snaking into the hem of Noctis’s cargo pants and the way Noct could only laugh in response as his shot took a curve unexpectedly. That was Prompto, snorting and laughing when Noctis tried to punch him with one hand, his other making the gun disappear into the void.

 _That_ was Prompto.

This thing, this fucking thing wearing Prom’s face… this thing with its red eyes, gurgling on black daemon blood…

Gladio needed it to stop. He needed it like he needed air in his lungs or a sword in his hands.

He could feel it, now. When he slid the sword down to the junction where that _thing’s_ neck met its head. It was the snapping of bones and the squirt of blood. After having spent years knowing the feel of killing monsters, animals, daemons and machinery…

He had never killed a person.

( _Except he had, hadn't he? And each one of them wore the smattering of freckles on their nose that Prompto did._ )

“We say nothing. Not now. Not like this.”

And Gladio agreed, because Ignis knew just as well as Gladio did that something like this would destroy Prompto. The man was strong, had become so much stronger in their journey together, but Gladio could see the cracks in his mask, just like he could see the cracks in the MT’s helmet.

That night they stayed in Old Lestallum in a motel with two beds to a room, and Gladio fucked Prompto harder than he usually did. He was a soft lover, a tender lover, a big fucking teddy bear of a lover who was gentle and delicate with his too big hands… yet that night he bit Prompto on the shoulder until he bled, only feeling a sinking in his gut when he saw the red blood pooling in his teeth marks.

“What’s gotten into you, big guy?” Prompto hissed, though it wasn't accusatory. Part of Gladio wished it was, that way he could think something different, to come up with some kind of blame.

“Sorry. Just,” Gladio grunted as he withdrew, making sure to be more gentle. Prompto wasn't at fault, this had nothing ( _everything_ ) to do with him. “Just a long day.”

Prompto rubbed at the indents on his shoulder and swore, but he turned to Gladio and swung his leg over Gladio’s calf. “It’s ‘kay.  I can handle it.” The blond man nuzzled his forehead against Gladio’s shoulder and whispered, “I’ll be fine.”

Could he? Could Prompto handle that black blood and those red eyes?

So, Gladio held the blond in his arms, running the tips of his fingers across his developing muscles and up to Prom’s neck, all the while the remembering the way the MT’s skin parted under his sword.

( _He held Prompto’s neck like one would a new sylleblossom, trying to protect it from himself._ )

 


	3. Noctis (In Blood)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if OP wants a Prompto chapter, so otherwise... this is where it ends. I hope it was suitably angsty.

“There’s something different about them. There’s something off.”

Zegnautus Keep was hell on Eos.

And these MTs were his own personal daemons, created to escort him to the throne.

Noctis knew that the moment the first one wrapped its fingers around his throat. He was used to MTs trying to kill him. He had killed enough of them in the last few months to last a lifetime, and yet, for some unexplainable reason, it was only dawning on him now. Now, when he was alone and tired and so fucking scared out of his mind with only that god forsaken ring as company, was he able to hear it.

The MTs were breathing.

When the first one reached through the bars and pulled him close, he felt its breath, hot like a Fire spell, against his face. Gralea was so cold, so goddamn cold, and if not for his heart bursting in terror because it had its fingers wrapped around his windpipe, Noctis would have appreciated the warmth.

But…

Since when did Magitek armor need to breathe?

After using the Ring to pull the thing into the ether, Noctis breathed into his hands, seeing his breath puff out in a cloud before him.

“Oh, tut tut. Why would you kill it?”

Ardyn.

Noctis growled and wondered if the man could hear him, could see him. Was he getting off on this sick fetish? Was he laughing? Was he enjoying the view?

“Fuck you,” Noctis grumbled and turned the Ring on his finger, closing his fist tight until the metal bit into his skin. He didn’t want to look at that red glow.

“After all, I thought you liked your dear Prompto.”

Noctis sucked in a breath through his teeth, hearing the hiss reverberate through the empty halls.

“I’ll find him, I swear,” Noctis yelled, words bouncing against the laughter.

“Oh, I am certain you will-- can you see him, coming around the corner?”

Noctis knew it was a trap, he knew better, but he could hear boots on the ground and when he saw Prompto he knew something was wrong-- because--

“Yes, little Noctis. Your Prompto has been lying to you. All this time, he was a monster.”

Noctis gagged.

The Axman before him was Prompto, but Prompto had blue eyes like the sky, like that first day when they were kids and it had been so damn sunny, a cloudless afternoon. Noctis knew that color and had stared into them on the good days and the bad days, the days where there was nothing but laughter and on the days where there was nothing but tears.

He knew those eyes.

But this? This thing?

This was a monster.

 _He_ was a monster.

“No, no!” Noctis screamed and he wanted to thrust out his hand to send that thing into the ether, but it had Prompto’s face.

It had Prompto’s _face_.

He didn’t fight it, at first. In fact, for a moment, Noctis wondered if it was even really there--Ardyn was good with warping reality, distorting the truth. There was nothing in front of him, let alone that open-mouth, blond-haired mockery of Prompto with black blood and daemon red eyes staring out at him, void of light.

“Poor Prompto must be feeling the heat right about now.” Ardyn giggled. He _giggled_. “Those eyes. Poor thing; giving into his nature takes such a toll on the body. The eyes go first. We knew that we had him when his eyes changed.”

Noctis only fought back when the thing wrapped its fingers around his throat and began to choke, and he could see its face that this couldn’t possibly be Prompto. He wanted to kiss its gaping jaw, let his mouth rest on those freckles and accepted his fate. He wouldn’t have struck back. He wouldn’t have dared to.

But that skin was ashy and sickly, as though it had never seen sunlight-- and that wasn’t Prompto at all. Prompto burned when he sat outside for too long, and Noctis had long ago memorized the scars across Prompto’s cheek from when he had gotten Chocobo-pox when they were sixteen, and this thing didn’t have it. It wasn’t Prompto.

It _wasn’t_ Prompto.

Yet watching those soulless eyes, the whites turned black and the blue turned blood red,  Noctis had to fight every urge in him to not cry.

Ardyn was good with his magic, but Noctis was better.

He had to squeeze his eyes tight when he felt the fingers losing their grip around his throat and he knew what would happen next. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t really Prompto; he couldn’t watch his magic kill it.

He couldn’t watch it die.

“Are you certain it wasn’t the real thing? We wouldn’t want to make a mistake.”

No, Noctis reminded himself. He knew Prompto. He _knew_ him, had loved him since they were obnoxious teenagers with fumbling hands and dry mouths and whispers in the bathroom stall where he hoped they wouldn’t be noticed.

No illusion Ardyn sent at him would confuse him again. He wouldn’t let it-- no.

He couldn’t let it.

“You won’t fool me with your illusions--”

“Who said anything about illusions?”

Noctis’s mouth went dry.

“You may not believe me, but I assure you that I merely… removed the veil from your eyes, the veil your dearest friend put there himself.”

No. Those things did not have Prompto’s face, this was all just a disgusting lie. It was Ardyn fucking with him, pretending like it wasn’t him.

“Your other friends--the ones that are more than your friends? Yes… they knew and lied to you, too. I wonder how long the have known that your sweet Prompto was a monster.”

“Prompto’s not a monster--shut up!”

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t have been true.

The next time, Ardyn sent two.

It was easier for Noctis to kill them when they were in pairs because he could look from one sickened face to the other and remember that no matter how close it was to being Prompto, it wasn’t him. None of them were Prompto.

Fuck.

“He only looks human, but I assure you, my King, that your lover is nothing but a well-trained shell. Just like them. It only takes a moment to complete the switch.”

It wasn’t true. It was all a lie. There was nothing mechanical, nothing daemon about Prompto. Nothing. Noctis had seen Prompto bare to the world, every part of him showing. He had kissed across the freckles on Prompto’s chest, listened to his heartbeat. Prompto was human, warm and pliable and breathing.

But so were these things.

So were _they_.

“You never wondered about the tattoos on his wrist, Noctis? Those are for the MTs, to code them… herd them like the sheep they are. Did he tell you that? Did he tell you what they did? I am curious--what is his number?”

The tattoo on Prompto’s wrist? Noctis shuddered. Prompto said it was the mark given to him by the orphanage when he was a baby, and he had been so damn uncomfortable that Noctis had just ignored it. He wanted to kiss it, to tell Prompto that if his original parents hadn’t wanted him, his real mom did. His mom who worked every day and every night to make sure that Prompto got to live and grow safely--she wanted him.

And now… Now, Ignis and Gladio loved and wanted him.

Noctis wanted him more than the sun--no. That wasn’t true.

To him, Prompto _was_ the sun.

But it didn’t matter what those tattoos on his wrist were… it didn’t.

“Ah, 1025736. Ring any bells?”

Noctis squeezed his eyes closed and reached out into the magic of the ring and pulled. Prompto’s birthday.

There was a scream over the intercom and a rush of something stronger than terror pulled at Noctis’s heart as he broke out into a run, wishing that the sound of Prompto’s cries would stop-- because Ardyn wouldn’t really hurt him…

Except he would. He had already killed Luna. He had blinded Ignis.

“Please! Stop!”

The sound of the intercom cut out and Noctis wasn’t sure what was worse, hearing Prompto’s screams or not hearing them.

The longer he ran, the more of the monsters wearing his lover’s face appeared and Noctis let the magic of the Ring rush over him like a cool, sweet cloth. The longer he allowed the magic of the crystal to pull at him the more the edges of the room seemed to become red and fuzzy until the red of Prompto’s eyes disappeared and he could almost pretend like the thing in front of him really was Prompto. He would get close enough to see the Ring squeeze the last bit of their bodies to ash and then it would fade and he would remember all over again.

“I wonder… will there be anything left of your little monster when you arrive? Perhaps I’ll activate him and see just how much you care for him when he is just like all of them.”

“Touch one hair on his fucking head--”

“And you’ll do what, my King? Maim me? Kill me? I am terribly sorry, but I want to let you in on a little secret.” The voice cut out for a moment and Noctis stopped to stare up at the ceiling where he imagined the camera was.

“Stop stringing me along--” Noctis began, but his voice turned to a startled gasp when he saw the fake Prompto ahead of him, screaming out as his entire body twisted and contorted and Noctis could only watch as Prompto’s spine snapped and his arms and legs cracked. The MT Prompto was skittering toward him on all fours, his head lolling from the energy of his gyrating steps.

Noctis held out his hand, allowing the red lick of the ring to dull his senses.

“Your sweet Prompto? Have you ever thought it strange how you met? How he was so willing and ready to take you as his friend? You were such a lonely little boy, no doubt… I wonder if you had any friends, other than the Shield and your Advisor. And what an odd little relationship you three have.”

Ignis. Gladio.

“Prompto told me about your little… agreement. You didn’t think it odd that someone who talks so much about the pleasures of women would be willing to play a part in your perverse desires--”

No.

Prompto… he always accepted Noctis, for every flaw and broken piece. He had accepted the good and the bad or the different, as in the case of Gladio and Ignis.

He had always accepted Noctis as exactly who he was.

“Did you think he loved you? These biological machines are programmed to be good shells, but I assure that there is nothing true inside your little friend. He is as empty as… well, as an MT. He followed his orders well, don’t you think? He truly was a work of art.”

It couldn’t be true. Prompto…. Prompto…

“I wonder whether or not daemons can feel disgust or revulsion. If so, he would no doubt hold you in the highest of contempt. I admit, I am curious to see what a monster does when it is angry… Then he will be my masterpiece, my magnum opus. Don’t you want to see?”


	4. Prompto (In Memory)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to write one more chapter at the request of the OP for the kink meme, as they wanted to see what Prompto would do. I hope that they enjoy the chapter and that you do, too.

**Prompto (In Memory)**

Prompto always knew he was different. As a child in the orphanage, no matter how much the matrons held him Prompto always cried. He could remember the cages and the hum of the machines, the feeling of the IVs in his arm, the tubes down his throat. He was just a baby but he remembered feeling the doctors and their hands and the Matrons were not soft. They did not dote, did not spare him affection. At least there was no pain, but he always remembered.

He was  _different_.

His mother told him he was just being silly, over-imaginative, but that was not the case at all. He remembered everything with a clarity that was stark like the black ink in his photos. Yet, at least with the photos he had a reason to remember, proof that his mind wasn't wrong. He could show others his photographs and they would be able to see it just as he had, how he  _always_  would.

He had memorized the barcode against his arm and more than that he knew exactly how many eyelashes Noctis had as he pushed him off of the train, the pattern of the scars against Ignis's face, the number of feathers across Gladio's skin. He knew each one because in passing days since his capture it had been the only thing keeping him from teetering off the edge. Ardyn, for all his magical influence and sorcery, did not know that Noctis had a little mole behind his left ear and a sweet beauty mark on his cheek. He didn't know that some of the feathers across Gladio's skin held his loved ones names as permanent testament to his devotion. He didn't know that Ignis had small icepick scars from when he was a child under his right eye that always reminded Prompto of a smiley face.

Those little things...

They made them human.

 _Human_.

And Prompto wanted to laugh every time Arydn came forward wearing their faces. His lovers... their faces... It was easy to tell the difference.

Too easy. Easier than a human should have.

And then he sent in the troopers.

Prompto knew the first time he saw the axman with his face that those nightmares he had as a small child were real, that the terror from the tubes and the mechanical whir of the machines were really real and  ** _oh Gods, what was he and who was he and why did it have his face and no this couldn't be_** —

"It's so easy to flip the switch, Prompto. I can do it at any time. After all, you were made by my own design."

When Ardyn whispered this— wearing Ignis's face before Altissia— he had laughed in it. When he wore that face as Gladio, one scar rather than two, he had sneered. And yet when he wore Noctis's face like that last day on the train, ten eyelashes off the original and no mole, Prompto had snarled and gnashed his teeth together to try and rip his own arms off to get at him.

"You think they want a broken MT? An empty shell created to be filled with daemon essence?" Mock-Noctis ran his finger down Prompto's face in a parody of a love confession. "They know what you are, Prompto. That's why he pushed you... You don't deserve to live like a human when you're just a monster."

Prompto tried to bite his finger off.

He didn't mind Noctis punching him in the stomach, because this Noctis was wrong. It was wrong, it was incomplete, it was soulless—

Just like  _him_.

The days bled into nights and up became down and the only company Prompto had was his own face staring back at him with black scleras and red irises, skin like ash. It all haunted him— the creak of their uniforms, the sound of their breath, even their hands when they touched him ( _and Ardyn would use Gladio's hearty chuckle when one of the MTs would buckle and break, twisting into knots in front of him just because he could make them do it.)_

And every day Prompto watched them break with the whisper of his lover's mouth against the shell of his ear.

"Only a little switch and you turn on just like they did."

One little switch.

Prompto felt his upper arm itch and he tried to ignore it. The small, circular scar he always kept covered, just like he kept the barcode covered. The nursery told him he probably received it from faulty medical equipment. But now, after seeing the MTs with his face  _(Or was it he with their faces? How did it all work? Who had made him? How had they made him?)_  he had an inkling of what it was. It was where...

It was where they had injected him.

It was where Ardyn would rest his fingers when wearing Noctis's face and promise that soon,  **soon** , the daemons would be free.

"They're already inside you, Prompto... all it takes is a switch, just a little prick, and they will be free."

Ardyn tried to kiss him, but Prompto bucked and smashed his head into the man's face, watching Noctis's face melt into his own, blood pouring down his nose.

"No matter," mock-Prompto laughed and wiped the blood, leaving the skin smeared with red. "It'll be soon. I think I'll make the boys watch. All it takes is just one little switch." The man rested his hand on his jacket pocket.

Prompto didn't want to see what was inside. What was the switch? What was it?

What was  _he_?

Ardyn hadn't been lying. It wasn't too long after when the three appeared and Prompto wanted them to go, even as he stared at them. Didn't they know what he was?

Didn't they understand?

They should have left him to rot in that base. He was nothing but a danger, just a danger.

Just a monster.

MT.

 **Empty**.

"Get away from me!"

The moment Noctis's hands were on his skin, all of his eyelashes the same, the little beauty mark on his cheek and the hint of the mole behind his ear. Ignis was there, too. His face so scarred, so damaged but there was the smiley face. Gladio... Prompto knew his name was stitched into the wing near the eagle's face, above his nipple where his heart was...

And yet...

"Prompto, it's us— please," Noctis reached out and undid the straps holding his wrists, but the moment he was free Prompto pushed himself away from the three, holding his hands out.

"I'm fine— I'm fine! Just go, leave! I'm fine!"

Gladio tried to take a step toward him but Prompto turned like a rabid dog, running away from the other man.

"I said  _go_!"

"Prompto— what the fuck, calm down—"

But how was Prompto supposed to calm down? What if Ardyn could see them? No doubt he already knew that Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis were there...

"Why is toying with me?" Prompto muttered and shivered, wrapping his arms protectively around himself as the Gladio and Noctis stared at him with confusion, hurt imprinted on all three of their faces.

"Prompto— it's us. I swear."

That was the problem, wasn't it? It was that they were there, that they were close to him. What if he changed? Oh, Six, what if this was what Ardyn kept him alive for?

"Noct, you don't understand— I...I..."

The words were stuck in his throat and no matter how hard he tried they were like battery acid. He could see them slowly inching forward, could see the imprints of their long, arduous journey across their bodies. They were damaged; all of them were damaged. But Prompto?

Prompto was the worst of them all.

"Please don't," Prompto pleaded and held out his hands, palms up. "Please don't come closer... I don't wanna... I don't wanna..." his voice broke, "I don't wanna hurt you."

"Prompto, you would never—" Ignis began, but Prompto let out a sob as he felt two hands against his open palms and he had to pull his hands away like they were held over fire.

"I would! I  _would_." Prompto curled his fingers and let his back rest against the wall, feeling the bite of the cold as he slid down to the floor. Now all he could see was their knees; he didn't have to look in their faces, and they wouldn't have to look at his when he turned...

"Just make it quick. Please, just kill me now—"

"Prom—we're not gunna kill you! We're here to rescue you—"

"But... the train. You know... that's why you pushed me." It hard to speak, to get the words to come out right. "I lied... I'm so sorry. I just didn't... I didn't know what to say."

It was all a mess, it was all wrong. He had thought so much about what he should have said, yet... there was nothing that would ever be right. There was nothing he could have said, no way he could have explained it all. How did one go about explaining that he was a monster? That under his skin were daemons, a ticking time bomb ready to explode at the push of a button. All it would take is a switch— just a switch.

"I didn't want you to think I was... I'm a monster."

Blood red eyes, black blood.

Empty.

 **MT**.

"Prompto, no—"

But Prompto covered his head with his hands, staring down into his knees. They needed to leave, they needed to go away, to get as far away as possible before something bad happened to them.

"I love you guys too much. I don't want to kill you. I don't... I don't want to make you kill me. Please," he could not keep the tremble from his voice and fuck, in all the ways he thought about them saving him he hadn't thought they would really save him, "just... just go."

_(Let me die in here so I don't hurt you out there.)_

Prompto wasn't one for theatrics, not really. He knew when to put on false bravado. He also knew when it was best to be silent, contemplative, to not say anything. Growing up by himself for the most part, his mom too busy... he had learned to be alone. He learned when to pull in on himself...

Yet Prompto knew he didn't want them to leave without him; he didn't think he would survive another day by himself... yet...

"He said there's a button, that it'll make me just like them." Prompto finally looked up to see the three men— his friends, his lovers— around him. "If you don't want to kill me, fine. I can do it myself—" Prompto made a motion for Gladio's hip where he could see his gun holster, only to be pinned down to the wall by Noctis. Gladio stood and threw his gum into the furthest edge of the room while Ignis... Oh, Ignis...

"Iggy, please," Prompto pleaded. If Noctis was too soft, was unwilling to do it, maybe Ignis would remember... maybe he could get Gladio to do it. "I can't hurt Noctis. Don't let me hurt Noctis. Don't let me hurt you... Don't let him make me into one of  _them_."

A hand reached out and threaded itself through his greasy hair and then slipped down to his forehead. Ignis's hands were cool and it almost made Prompto whimper. It had been so long since he had felt those hands against his skin, had that comfort...

"Prompto, he can't hurt you. Not with us here. Please, believe me... he can't make you one of them."

Prompto closed his eyes and tried to fight against the soothing hands against his face and the hands pinning him down, gently rubbing circles into the aching skin on his wrists.

"But I'm... I'm like them. They're like me—"

Something rested against his head and he didn't have the energy to open his eyes, but it felt like Gladio.

"You're not like them and he can't do anything to you, Prom. You think I'm gunna let him try?" The gruff words were so comforting and Prompto wanted to believe him, to believe in Gladio. But Gladio didn't understand, not really.

"You... you don't know what I am."

Prompto opened his eyes to see Ignis in front of him, the scars across his cheeks a constant reminder of their loss... that this wasn't just a video game where he could go back to the previous save point to try again.

"We do know, Prompto. I learned of it some time ago and informed Gladio. We thought it best... we thought it best not to bring it up to you or Noctis." Deep lines formed against Ignis's scars, his glasses skewed enough for Prompto to see the scaly pink scar tissue and the green, cloudy eye. "I didn't—I didn't want you to worry." Ignis ran his fingers across Prompto's face, his way of seeing him.

Noctis's hand against his right arm moved to the outside of his wrist, rubbing circles down until it reached his bar code.

"Noctis, please don't." Prompto wanted to cry when he felt Noctis pull his hand up, gently removing the glove. He didn't want to see the black lines and numbers against his skin but when he looked away he could still see it in his mind's eye. He could still see the numbers, their ugly splotches against his skin.

"We don't care what you are. We've never cared about what you are. We care about who you are."

Prompto couldn't help but let a few tears escape the corners of his eyes when he felt Noctis's lips against his wrist. He had never really cried in front of them before— the occasional tear of pain from getting the shit kicked out of him on the daily didn't really count. Prompto tried to always be smiling because he knew the others couldn't. But here, in the dirty room wearing the clothes he fell off the train with Gods only knew how long ago, he felt like a weight was both building and disappearing inside of him.

"But Ardyn said—"

"Ardyn said that he killed you all... that he was planning on going to Lestallum to find my sister."

Gladio's words stung. Little Iris... she was just a kid.

"He told me that he would cure my sight in exchange for Noctis's head."

Ignis would never...

"He..." Noctis trailed off and Prompto turned his head to see the prince, to see his best friend's face. "He said... he said that you never loved us. That you were a daemon, but you aren't."

"But he said I am—"

"Yet you walk in the sun... you don't burn. They did. When we broke their masks, they turned to ash." Ignis let his fingers rest over the planes of Prompto's cheeks. "You only get a little red, no doubt from your fair complexion."

"No worse than Snow White over there," Gladio urged, and Prompto tried to laugh but found his throat refusing to make sound.

Prompto looked back to Noctis, whose face had gone serious yet again. "Prom... Let's get out of here. Let's go see the sun... that way, you'll believe me." Noctis laced his fingers with Prompto's. "We'll get out of here. Okay?"

"And we'll see the sunrise?" It was hard to keep the emotion from strangling his words, but he tried his best. Prompto looked to the three men around him... The sunrise. It sounded so beautiful. He had memorized thousands of sunrises, but no sunrise was ever the same as the one before it or the one after.

"Yeah, Prompto. Let's go see the sunrise... Together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... we all know how that ends. No sunrise, not for a very long time... and not together. 
> 
> These poor fucking boys.
> 
> Let me know what you think.
> 
> Please feel free to add me on tumblr! My name is rsasai


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